


meant to be

by starlightwalking



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Typical Memory Loss, F/F, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: "I don't believe in 'meant to be'," she says. But Hurley, despite herself, disagrees.Or: Hurley and Sloane, before and after the voidfish took their memories.





	meant to be

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea ever since my first listen of taz: what if hurley and sloane had known each other before petals to the metal, but had forgotten?  
> i'm,,, emotional about hurley and sloane and everything they've been through and im SO glad they got a happy ending !!!!  
> also don't @ me about dnd spells and shit, i was suuuper vague with all the magic :p  
> (eta: i just realized that apparently bane's name is actually spelled 'bain' and im sorry but im not going through to fix that. rip)  
> hope you enjoy!!

Hurley gritted her teeth as she reluctantly entered the tent of her superior officer. She knew exactly what Bane would tell her, and she was already kicking herself for it.

"Ah, Hurley!" Bane said, rising to greet her. "Come in."

"Captain." She saluted him.

"I prefer my  _full_  title, Lieutenant," he said sharply. "With a name like mine, I can never tell if you're being disrespectful."

"Of course, Captain Captain Bane sir," Hurley said, repressing her frustration. Couldn't he just get to the point?

"Now, Lieutenant, you know why you're here, don't you?" Bane asked.

"Yessir." Hurley bowed her head. "The Raven stole my design for self-propulsion on the battlewagons."

"Exactly." Bane glowered at her. "And..."

"Added  _flame_  propulsions," Hurley muttered. "To all the battlewagons in the Spider's army."

"Hurley, I hired you for your ingenuity— _not_  your poor security! This is the  _third_  time your workshop has been infiltrated and your designs taken!" Bane slammed his fist on his desk. "If this happens  _one_  more time—"

"You'll throw me out into the desert, I know, sir," she said, clenching her fists. "And  _you_  know I'll join the Raven in a heartbeat and you'll lose the war for everyone in Goldcliff."

"I'll execute you, then," Bane said bluntly. "You forget I answer to a higher power, too. The Elites will have  _my_  head if the Spider gets that sash!"

Hurley bowed her head. "Yessir, of course sir."

Bane turned his back on her. "Good you understand."

Hurley, feeling her dismissal, left.

* * *

"Honestly,  _fuck_  the Raven," Hurley growled as she passive aggressively tightened a screw. She was working late, determined to catch the Raven in the act.

Bane and his army had lost a deadly battle to the Spider's forces that morning. The Raven, master thief and engineer, served their master well and hid in the shadows just like him. But unlike the Spider, the Raven could be tracked. Hurley was determined to be the one to hunt them down.

Bane's superiors, the Elite Council, needed the Gaia Sash to restore order to Goldcliff and end the Spider's reign of terror in the desert. Only this powerful Grand Relic could match the mysterious powers of the Spider, but the Sash's last owner had perished in a desert of their own making, hiding it from everyone, and the Spider was hunting for it too.

Personally, Hurley didn't give two shits about the Elites and their "order", but she needed to pay the bills, and she was a good engineer. It was either work for the Elites or the Spider, and well—the devil you know, right?

So she offered her services to the Elites, and they assigned her under Captain Captain Bane's command. Once a leader of the local militia, now some sort of warmonger, Bane put her to work creating battlewagons. Hurley was good at it, damn good, but then the Raven had come into play.

At first, she thought the fact the Spider's warriors had begun to use battlewagons was simple copying from the battlefield. But the designs were too similar—and then she noticed the missing blueprints from her workshop, replaced with a single raven's feather. A giant, cliche "fuck you" to Hurley and everything she worked for.

The Raven didn't just steal her ideas. That would be insulting enough. No, they had to go and make her concepts better.  _That_  was the thing that drove Hurley crazy. The Raven knew how to take her  _brilliant_  ideas and improve them!

If the Raven wasn't such a conniving, evil piece of shit, she'd almost admire them. She might even want to collaborate with them. She didn't care that the "other side" was using her designs—if money got tight she might have sold them to the Spider herself—it was the theft, the personal slights, that made her hate the Raven furiously.

Finishing her work on the battlewagon before her, Hurley set aside her tools and quietly closed up shop, muttering further curses against the Raven under her breath. Normally, she would go home at this point and try to forget about wars and wagons and worries, but she had other plans in mind that night.

With their victory so recent, Hurley wasn't sure if the Raven would strike again that night, but she would stay vigilant until she caught them. Whether that meant tracking them with what magic she had or simply beaning them on the bean with a wrench, she didn't care. There would be no more Raven as soon as Hurley got ahold of them.

The night crept on. Hurley crouched in the dark and while away the time doodling new designs by the light of the moon as it peeked through the skylight.

Hurley's eyes drooped. Staying awake for so long was a struggle, especially after such a long and trying day. Her breathing slowed, her tense muscles relaxed, and she drifted into a light sleep...

She didn't realize what was happening on her watch until the light of the moon was suddenly obscured.

Hurley woke with a start. She sat up straight, hitting her head on the table behind her, and let out a yell.

"Aw, fuck," an unfamiliar voice growled.

Hurley leapt out of hiding and brandished her wrench. "Don't move!" she growled. She conjured a light, one of the better spells her meager monk magic might muster, and beheld the Raven for the first time.

She was a half-elf, dark and beautiful and shocked into silence by Hurley's command. Hurley stood, staring, for several tense moments. This was  _not_  the kind of person she'd expected the Raven to be.

The Raven took a step backward. "Uhh...I'm gonna just—go, then—" She glanced up at the skylight and jumped, but Hurley was not about to let her escape like that.

She threw her wrench up, knocking the Raven out of the air. As she crumpled to the ground, Hurley grabbed a nearby magic rope purchased from Fantasy Costco and tied her up.

The Raven struggled in her bonds, but couldn't break free from Garfield's mediocre spell of binding. Hurley stood back and examined her captive, pleased beyond description. This would get Bane off her back for sure—and maybe ensure the Elites' victory and the end of this war!

"I did it," Hurley murmured. "I did it! I caught the Raven!"

"Raven, 's'that what you call me?" she demanded. Even captured, she was defiant, rubbing Hurley the wrong way.

"You leave raven feathers behind after you steal. You're nothing more than a thief, mocking experts." Hurley spat at the half-elf's feet.

"Raven feathers are good for spells. I thought you'd use them to make more wagon magics." The Raven narrowed her eyes. "But you're no mage, despite your little light tricks and rope you bought from some warlock. You're no more a grand mage than I am a simple thief."

Hurley's hand went for her wrench, but it was all tied up with the Raven. She snatched it from its spot by the half-elf's chest, ignoring her blush as Hurley's hand brushed her breast.

"I already hit you once, don't make me do it again," she warned.

"I might like that, for all you know." The Raven grinned and batted her lashes. "You've already got me tied up, and then you go for a grope—"

Hurley was blushing now, too. "Are you  _flirting_  with me?" she demanded.

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a kiss," the Raven said, winking.

Completely disarmed by the snarky, confident thief, Hurley had no response. At last, she said, "If you don't go by Raven, what's your name?"

"Sloane." She nodded. "Yours?"

"Lieutenant Hurley, Engineer First Class."

"Fancy," Sloane said absently. She stared at Hurley in a intense way that made her skin prickle uncomfortably. Noticing Hurley's wide eyes, she blinked out of it, then asked, "You're caught up with the Elites, then, huh?" Sloane shook her head and tutted. "Shame. I almost respected your techniques."

"I'm just doing what I have to so I can survive," Hurley said bluntly. "Once the Elites have the Gaia Sash—"

Sloane laughed. "I know you folks haven't the faintest idea of how powerful the Spider actually is, but you can't seriously think you're winning!"

"You know the Spider?" Hurley asked.

Sloane narrowed her eyes. "Untie me and maybe I'll tell you."

She didn't know what made her do it, but soon Hurley was sneaking Sloane—the Raven!—back to her apartment. All the way, Sloane hissed about how unprofessional the Elites' barracks were, how capitalism would kill itself even if the Spider wasn't around to kickstart the process, how Hurley was crazy for staying here.

"They let me work," Hurley explained with a shrug. "I don't care for them in particular, but..."

Safe in Hurley's one-bedroom flat, Sloane began to tell her story. Hurley listened with rapt attention, and could feel her heart sinking as she realized she was rapidly reversing her rage at her worst enemy into... Well,  _love_  was far too strong a word. But she was certainly becoming smitten with Sloane.

"I'd sell the Spider out in a heartbeat, if I thought he would lose the war and not hunt me down later," Sloane admitted freely. "He blackmailed me into doing his dirty work. All I'm good for is theft, apparently. He doesn't even notice when I add on to the battlewagon designs, fine tune the spots those lazy engineers neglected—"

Hurley bristled. "Hey!" she snapped. "Those are  _my_  designs!"

Sloane blinked. "I assumed you were security."

"What part of 'Engineer First Class' did you not catch?"

"All of it." Sloane glanced away, then turned back with burning eyes. "To be honest, I was checking you out."

"Oh, fuck me," Hurley whispered. She was  _so_  screwed. But frankly, she was glad Sloane was the one doing it.

"I'd apologize, but—" Sloane began.

"No, literally." Hurley grabbed her and gave her a not-so-gentle kiss. " _Fuck_  me, you idiot."

Sloane didn't need her to say it a third time.

* * *

The stealing stopped after that. But that didn't mean Sloane didn't come back to the workshop at the edge of the Elites' barracks.

She snuck back in to see Hurley nearly every night. Sometimes they would work together, coming up with new modifications for battlewagons. Sometimes...they did other things.

It was all just a game. Hurley and Sloane played a balancing act, giving their superiors bits and pieces of new technology—just enough to please them, just enough to stay employed. Neither of them were on the front lines; neither of them were in any danger of being hurt by the weapons they made.

People died out on the desert plains, died in battlewagons of their own creations. Sloane didn't care; they were fighting a pointless war. Eventually, the Spider would win and raze Goldcliff to the ground with the power the Gaia Sash would give him. Hurley still seemed to believe that the Elites had the upper hand, despite everything Sloane told her about her superior.

The Spider, when all his magic and terror were boiled down, was just an asshole. A powerful asshole, sure, but nobody anyone  _liked_. Sloane had never seen him in person, but she'd heard his voice: a lilting, mocking tone full of false praise and overfamiliarity. He was just like his namesake, trapping people in his command like flies in a web.

He'd caught Sloane a year previous. She'd just been a petty thief in Goldcliff's slums, scraping by, when she got the oh-so brilliant idea of burgling the headquarters of a secret society she barely knew about. Well, she'd been caught by some ugly-looking human brutes and "spared" from execution by the man who would become the Spider.

"He's not even  _from_  here," she complained to Hurley one night. "He wants the Sash, nothing else, and he only came to Goldcliff to get it. That's his whole  _purpose_."

"Why does anyone follow him, then?" Hurley demanded. "At least on my side, the Elites promise peace and prosperity even if all they want is power."

"He traps you," Sloane grumbled. "He's a Spider. That's what he  _does_. He trapped me and marked me with his spells, told me he wouldn't let me free 'til he had that damned sash." She showed Hurley the tattoo on her wrist: a black spider. The mark of her debt.

"None of us will be free until then," Hurley said bitterly. "Gods, why are we here and now? What's the point of all this? Wars for these Grand Relics are everywhere you look, but even I'd take one if I could." Despite how much she hated the war, the idea of having one in her grasp... just the thought was a powerful drug to everyone under the sun. If she ever got ahold of one, she didn't know  _what_  she'd do.

"Oh, it's probably aliens or some shit," Sloane joked. "Or, you know, mortal greed. The Spider's not  _trying_  to topple the fragile balance of a consumer society, but Goldcliff is rotting in its own wealth. It was only a matter of time."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard all your communist spiel before," Hurley dismissed. "But still—I think there's a reason for all this. A reason the war's happening, a reason there's seven relics out there, hell—even a reason you and I are here together."

Sloane rolled her eyes. "I don't believe in 'meant to be'," she said. "Nothing like us would be intentional."

But she could tell that Hurley, despite herself and everything Sloane knew she loved about this mess they'd tumbled into, disagreed.

* * *

"Let's end this fucking war," Sloane said one gray morning, lying next to Hurley in her bed.

"A novel proposition." Hurley rolled over and pressed up against her torso. Sloane wrapped an arm around her, wondering how anything they did together could go wrong. "How do you suggest we do it?"

"I've still got this mark on me. I can't run off." She tapped her wrist, where the black spider tattoo shone darkly in the morning glow. "But I'd still be serving the Spider if I was hunting for the Sash, wouldn't I? And once we do, we'll be more powerful than him."

"You want us to find the Gaia Sash...on our own?" Hurley asked. "Hmm. Well, if we really are meant to be, I bet we could do it."

Sloane almost agreed: anything seemed possible in this soft gray moment. But— "Nah," she said. "If we find it, it's 'cuz we were smart enough to do it on our own."

"Only one way to find out." Hurley kissed Sloane's neck. "But let's not get out of bed just yet."

"No," Sloane agreed, and turned to kiss her girlfriend in return.

Eventually they did leave the bed, but neither of them reported for duty that day. Instead, they got in one of Hurley's newest battlewagons and headed into the desert.

Sloane was a rogue with a touch for magic. She concealed the wagon as they raced through the desert, Hurley driving right past the armies preparing for another day of endless war.

Everything seemed to happen so fast for them. They could have driven around and around and found nothing for centuries, longer than either of them hoped to live, but somehow, it took them only one day.

Hurley drove right into it: a sandpit that sucked their battlewagon down into the earth. Sloane yelled, terrified, clutching her girlfriend as they fell. They landed with a huge crash in an underground cavern, and Sloane felt a  _crack_  as pain shot through her back.

"Shit shit shit," she hissed. "Aw fuck—Hurley, you okay?"

Hurley had slipped out of her arms at the last moment. She got up, winced, but nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine, just bruised. You?"

"Uhhh..." Sloane tried to get up and felt her back give out. "Not really."

Hurley knelt at her side. "Ohhh shit," she whispered. "That's pretty bad."

"Hey, I'm not dead," she said. "Even if the wagon's totally wrecked."  _How are we going to get back?_  she wondered, but she couldn't focus on it for too long.

"Okay, Sloane," Hurley said. She grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Um—I'm no cleric, and I'm not  _super_  good at this, but I  _am_ a monk and I know a few healing spells. So, uhhh—"

Sloane yelled as magic coursed through her body. Hurley was right—she wasn't all that great. Weren't healing spells supposed to make you feel  _better_?

But the pain subsided, and Sloane felt her back pop back into place. She sighed, and let Hurley lift her up.

"Better," she croaked.

"You, uh, might want to take it easy for a few days," Hurley warned, still holding her hand. "But you should be back to normal in no time."

Sloane fell silent, staring up at the hole where the ground used to be. A patch of too-blue sky was all she could see of the world above. She looked down: a huge cavern stretched before them, glowing with a strange green light.

"Where  _are_  we?" she whispered.

Hurley squeezed her hand tighter, taking a step forward. "I told you we were supposed to find it. I can  _feel_  it, Sloane."

"Hurles..." But Sloane could feel it too. A call, a pull, a  _need_  to see whatever it was in the back of the cave. The Sash was there. She  _knew_  it.

Holding onto each other, they walked deeper into the cave.

What they found was more terrifying than anything Sloane could have imagined. A sea of vines, electricity crackling all around them, a chill wind coming from nowhere. It engulfed the cave, save for one singular circle of smooth rock.

In that circle lay the skeleton of some unfortunate soul, bones covered in silverpoint poison, holding a long green cloth on their arms. Their skull was bent down, staring rapturously into the relic they possessed, their undoing.

Sloane was mesmerized. The second she saw that scarf, she knew she would do  _anything_  to take it. She let go of Hurley's hand, reached forward, stepped into the vines—

Something knocked her over. "No," Hurley growled. "It's not  _yours_." The same desire was in her eyes, the same lust for power.

Anger overcame her. Sloane leapt to her feet and threw a spell at the halfling before, rage blinding her reason. The halfling flew twenty feet back, but cast her own spell: Sloane was dragged across the ground to meet her.

Caught off guard, the halfling threw in another attack. She threw kick after kick and knocked an already weak and dizzy Sloane to the ground. She couldn't get up. Her mind filled with pain and only pain, her back cracking again.

And then the fog in her eyes cleared. She saw Hurley before her, already turned back to the Sash, and realized in horror how complete the power of the relic was.

"Hurley," she croaked, "Hurley, don't, it's not—"

And then, something odd happened.

Hurley stopped. She stared intently at the sea of vines—the lightning—the wind and snow—the skeleton—but the sash...it had gone dull and gray. Sloane followed her line of sight, confused.

What was it they were looking for, again?

"Sloane," Hurley said uncertainly, turning back. "Are you—aren't you on the Spider's side? Wh... why am I..."

"You're—with the Elites," Sloane said dully, her brain struggling to put the pieces together. Fog, cloud,  _static_  buzzed in her mind.

"The what?" the halfling asked, and Sloane's heart skipped a beat.

Who was this girl standing before her?

The halfling fell to her knees, tears dripping from her face. Sloane wanted to reach out, to comfort her. She felt like she knew her—but that face was unfamiliar.

Was there a war going on? But over what? Why?

Why wasn't she in Goldcliff? Had this halfling—had she taken her here? To die?

Anger built in Sloane's chest. "You—you brought me here!" she growled. "You—"

The halfling looked up, pain clouding her eyes. "What are you...  _who_  are you?"

Sloane didn't listen. She cast another spell, missed. It hit the cave ceiling, and rocks began fall. The cavern shook; a wall of stone blocked up the other end of the tunnel.

She tried again. This time her spell hit, flinging the halfling across the room. But she was weak, injured—the halfling was not. She raced back, jumped into combat: she threw kick after kick, beating Sloane's body into pulp.

Sloane didn't even try to fight back. She was so tired—so lost—

At last the kicking stopped. The halfling stood back, panting, then began to cry.

"Why are you  _here_?" she sobbed. She turned and raced away, down into the tunnel away from the vines.

Sloane heard a shout, then a thud. She didn't see what happened to the halfling, but she didn't care. If the halfling wanted to...

Wait...what halfling? Sloane was here alone. Alone and bleeding.

She gave into the confusion, and fell into static.

* * *

Captain Captain Bane went hunting. His memories fractured, his command over the people he thought he was supposed to lead lost, he took a battlewagon and chased out into the desert the one person he could remember.

She made the battlewagon he drove. She did it. The halfling—what was her name? Hailey... Harriet... Hurley. Hurley, that was it.

He found her in a cave, in the wreck of another wagon. He lifted her out, carried her home. He found the Council of Elites in Goldcliff still in control, still ordering him around. They told him he was a Captain of the militia, not some fool army leader, and he bowed to their wisdom.

He couldn't remember how he knew Hurley, but he knew she'd be a good soldier. She woke in the militia barracks and fell right into line like she belonged there.

The ruins of war in the desert were washed away overnight. But Captain Captain Bane was haunted by nightmares of battle and someone called a Spider, and Hurley's presence was proof enough that  _something_  had happened, something no one could remember.

So he went digging. He filled in the gaps, even when his mind refused to make sense of what they meant. And eventually he met a woman and her gnome butler, who told him she could explain everything, and then actually did.

Captain Captain Bane joined the Bureau of Balance and remembered everything, but told no one. He met Magic Brian, the drow who had once called himself the Spider, and even  _befriended_  the man he had once fought to the death over a relic he now despised.

But even though he was a Seeker, he couldn't find the Gaia Sash anywhere near Goldcliff; couldn't erase all the damage he had done.

* * *

No one found Sloane.

She picked herself back up, her mind so full of static she didn't even think to look behind her to where a pile of rock blocked off the back of the cave.

She rested in the shelter of a battlewagon for a week, regaining her strength. Then she took a look at the vehicle before her, picked up a wrench that was made for a hand far smaller than hers, and got to work.

It was a miracle that she got out of that hole. She couldn't remember why she had been there in the first place—didn't  _want_  to remember—only wanted to go back to her life of theft.

The black spider tattoo on her wrist faded away after a day, and she forgot it had ever been there.

* * *

Hurley found purpose in the Goldcliff militia, but she lost all faith in anything like fate. Whatever gods were out there, none of them were watching out for her. None of them cared enough to put her life back together.

Sloane didn't find anything, but she held within her a glimmer of hope. There was something in that cave she'd woken up in, something that she couldn't quite recall. But she knew she was meant to find it again. She knew there was a reason she had been there, a reason her mind had massive blank spots, a reason for everything she'd been through.

The Council of Elites banned anything and everything to do with battlewagons. No one quite knew why.

* * *

Sloane didn't start the battlewagon races, but she joined in them as soon as she could. It was exhilarating fun—a race, the constant threat of danger,  _winning_. She was good at this—good at something worthwhile for once in her life, even if it was still illegal.

She made her own wagon, her own style. She raced alone, not with a team. Working together with someone just wasn't her style; it never had been.

It was hard to keep the racing under wraps and anonymous, even with the Elites and the militia turning a blind eye. Racers wore masks—plain ones at first, then with designs. Sloane started the animal trend, donning a new persona as "the Raven". She felt cool and sexy, but even though she liked racing alone (no one to split the winnings with!) she felt like something was...missing.

Eventually, Sloane decided the thing she couldn't place was whatever else had been in that cave. She set out into the desert to find it again, to reclaim what she had lost and what she was now certain was her destiny.

But search as she might, Sloane found nothing.

* * *

"This isn't what it looks like," lied the half-elf in a raven mask.

Hurley didn't buy it. She knew better than to believe her suspects after this long. Ten years in the force hardened you. But there was something earnest in those dark eyes, glinting in the depths of the mask, that made her pause and listen.

That did her in, right away. From that moment on, she was doomed, but she didn't really mind. It had taken all her efforts to stop herself from racing on her own. A little push from a beautiful girl named Sloane was all it took to give in to temptation and get her to break the rules she enforced.

They became partners—the Raven and the Ram—winning with ease. They were the perfect team, better at this than they'd ever expected, like they'd been racing together for years.

They were partners in other ways, too. Hurley hadn't fallen in love since—gods, she couldn't remember the last time. It took her awhile—it took  _both_  of them awhile—to admit what was happening.

They took it slow. Tender, careful; then, easier and fiercer as they grew accustomed to a desperate, clinging love.

"Do you think we were meant for this?" Sloane asked one night when they were up late modifying their battlewagon.

Hurley allowed herself to look up and drink in the view of the hot, sweaty, muscled woman that was hers. There was a time where she would have answered  _yes_ , but now...

"No," she says, and she sees Sloane flinch a little. "But that doesn't matter. We  _chose_  this. We  _chose_  us. That's bigger and better than—'meant to be'."

And she could see Sloane mulling it over, nodding thoughtfully, but she knew in her heart of hearts that Sloane, despite herself and everything Hurley knew she adored about the race they'd run together, disagreed.

* * *

"You know, I woke up in a cave, once," Sloane said suddenly. They lay face to face on the hard ground of Sloane's hideout, so wrapped up in their casual intimacy that they barely noticed the stiff chill beneath them.

"Hm?" Hurley murmured.

"Yeah," Sloane said. "It was weird. Way out in the desert—don't remember why I was out there—must've fallen in some sandpit or something. There was a crashed battlewagon in there. Must've been driving it and hit my head or something."

"Huh," Hurley said. "When was this? Recent?"

"No, no, a long time ago, way before I met you," Sloane assured. "Way back before battlewagons were even banned."

"Wow," Hurley said, impressed. "Anything else in that cave?"

"No...not really," Sloane admitted. "There was a tunnel, all blocked off by some cave in, though. I always wanted to go back and...I dunno, check things out."

"Babe, don't," Hurley fretted. "It's dangerous out there. You already crashed once!"

"Danger is my middle name," Sloane joked. "Come on, Hurles, you know me. I can handle it."

Hurley sat up, more upset than she knew why. "Sloane," she said harshly. "If you go out in that godsforsaken desert chasing gold, or, or something, I swear I'll never sleep with you again!"

Sloane scowled. "Babe. Hurley. Hurles. You  _know_  that's not true."

Hurley relaxed. "Yeah, well... promise me? Please?"

"Of course," Sloane lied.

Hurley should have known then it was a lie. She should've known her girlfriend, her career, and her illegal hobby would collapse in on themselves sooner or later. But she let herself hope, and...

She didn't think Sloane would be the thing that broke first.

She went out in the desert one day, alone. Sloane was her own person; Hurley didn't keep a leash on her. She didn't expect anything to go awry. She  _trusted_  her.

But she didn't come back, not for days, and when she did—well, she was never quite the same with that fucking sash.

* * *

Things fell apart, and then just when it looked like Hurley could stoop down and start to pick back up the pieces, she and Sloane turned into a goddamn tree.

Those three boys—adventurers—interplanar  _heroes_  according to the Story and Song that stirred them from their slumber—did what Sloane couldn't. They fixed it. They beat back the darkness and lifted up everyone else with them, too.

Hurley didn't know how it all happened, which gods or aliens had stepped in to bring them back, turn them into dryads, and allow them to race and love again. Maybe it was them together, stepping out to save Mavis, Merle's daughter who loved them now like the kid niece Hurley had never known she wanted.

There was a lot of time to think in a tree. Trees are old, powerful, timeless. And to two spirits, bound together for an eternity or not even a year, not quite dead but not quite living, thinking was everything they needed.

The memories came back in bits and pieces: A war. A spider tattoo. A wrench, a rope. A fall. A fight. A love older than either of them had known. It wasn't until the song came crashing down that they remembered it all.

They sat together at the base of the tree they called home. It was only days after the end and beginning of the world, but it was the first time they'd been alone. They had fought and protected and wept cherry blossoms and held onto each other for all they had. They'd seen it through and had met the people they owed everything to and  _now_ , now at last, was the time to sit, and to talk.

There wasn't much to say, at first. They simply stared, gazing at each other with new eyes onto new bodies. Wood instead of flesh; bark instead of skin. But beneath that were the same beating hearts full of love and sorrow.

They remembered now. Everything, the whole picture.

"I'm sorry," Sloane said at last, and Hurley thought she was dragging the words out of herself. "I didn't—I would never have—except—"

"I'm sorry." Hurley hung her head, but Sloane lifted it back up, tenderness in her eyes. "Sloane, I..."

They both knew. They didn't have to say it; the forgiveness was something that came with sharing a tree, sharing a soul.

After that, they talked. About the past, all they'd been through; about what they'd forgotten and why; about the irony of a  _second_  first meeting, a second first kiss, a second first love.

"I guess we're onto thirds now," Hurley said, and Sloane laughed. She broke off suddenly and looked at Hurley with hunger in her eyes and together they found out that (Merle would be delighted) yes, plants can fuck if they want to.

"I love you," Sloane murmured in the shade of their tree, and this truly was a first. They'd known, of course, implied it often, but  _saying_  it... Now that it seemed speaking was half-unnecessary, the words they chose meant all the more.

"I love you," Hurley murmured back, never wanting to let her go again.

They weren't sure who said it, or if they said it at all—sharing a tree was kind of like sharing a mind, at times. But the question hung in the air:

"Do you think we're meant to be?"

Sloane, the skeptic turned convert, now sighed. Hurley, the believer fallen away, answered with one of her own.

"Maybe," Hurley said.

"I don't know," Sloane agreed.

"Can it be both?" Hurley asked.

"Mmm, I'd like that," Sloane whispered.

Fate and destiny and foreordination were clear, were real—Istus was proof enough of that. But everything that they'd been through testified of choice, of agency, of decision. So why not both—or neither, or everything?

Because here, curled in each others' arms and together with a happy ending—no, a happy beginning—it didn't matter. Despite all, they'd survived. And there was no one they were bound to but each other.


End file.
